


Claimed and Unclaimed

by badgerpride89



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerpride89/pseuds/badgerpride89
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are demigods. They may not have their godly parent (or their mortal one, for that matter) but they have each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	Claimed and Unclaimed

**Author's Note:**

> You wanted it, Ace Omens Discord, you mad lovelies, so here you go. Enjoy!
> 
> For the rest of you, our discord chat went bananas over the PJO universe and narrowed down the best/most interesting potential godly parents for Aziraphale and Crowley. Like a fool, I wrote a bunch of the ideas down and put them in a blender. Here's the first combination.

Aziraphale Coelum has no family. He was dropped off at a firehouse, red and screaming, wrapped in only a red blanket with a name tag on his ankle. Aziraphale Coelum knows what it is to be unwanted, drifting from foster family to group home to foster family. They all say the same thing. He is easy to love. Too easy. There's something unnatural, unnerving about him, they say to his social worker, who invests more time and energy into this one little boy than she reasonably should.

*

Anthony Crowley knows he was born from a mother who didn't want him and who only used his father as a means to get back at her husband. He knows this because his grandfather tells him every time Anthony makes too much trouble and Anthony's dad is too exhausted from work to deal with him. Anthony Crowley also knows that his mother named him because his father calls him AJ. Anthony Crowley will go by AJ or Crowley all his life; it's petty but by the time he knows better, it's habit.

*

Aziraphale is thirteen when he enters the camp for the first time. Others tell tales of monsters chasing them, of the mist closing in only to be saved by the camp’s borders. Aziraphale blushes and bats away questions of how he came to camp. It wouldn’t do to tell them the only monsters pursuing him were all too human and he was very lucky, indeed, to find this stretch of land and be accepted by its warm embrace. Most in his situation are not so lucky.

*

AJ runs away from home. Well, technically, he's kicked out but he pretends he was going to leave anyway. And he was, just not yet. But his grandfather screams that he's a fag, that he's unnatural, that he's too ungrateful and too stubborn. It's an old argument. AJ is a boy, but sometimes a girl, sometimes, neither, both, and everything in between. He loves his skirts and dresses (that he paid for with his own pocket money, dammit) and he loves making mischief and being the center of attention. And he's too stubborn, too prideful to keep quiet when anyone has a problem with it. He sneaks back in for some necessities, a jacket, his money, his favorite succulent, shoes and food. AJ runs into the night and never looks back.

He is eleven.

*

Aziraphale finds the private Demeter garden within his first week. It’s hardly hidden, he will explain later- even though no child outside of Demeter’s domain has ever found it- the place is well-loved, bright and obvious if one is paying attention. Speculation will run rampant through the camp for a fortnight. Is he one of Aphrodite’s, to sense love? One of Demeter’s, to find the garden in the first place?

But for now, thirteen-year-old Crowley spots him.

“Oi, you lost, new kid? This is Demeter territory,” he calls as Aziraphale straightens, revealing another, smaller child who hastily wipes her tears away. Crowley stops, cocks his head. The new kid keeps all his attention on the smaller one, until the girl glares at Crowley and darts into the underbrush.

Aziraphale clasps his hands in front of his chest, a nervous wince which might be a smile on his lips. “I told her I would distract you,” he says conspiratorially, “Apparently you have quite the reputation. She desperately needed someone to listen to her so I brought her somewhere private. I do apologize for intruding.”

Crowley stuffs his hands into his pockets, glancing down, warmth growing in his chest. “‘S fine. You’re fine. Just...don’t get many people traipsing through the place, is all. That’s Raphael’s section, though. He hates people messing with his stuff.”

“Ah. Well, I will remember that for the future.”

A beat passes.

“Come on, new kid,” Crowley mumbles, because the kid seems like one of those helper types and there are more than a few demigods here who could use a private listen and cry. He steps back onto the garden path and leads Aziraphale to Crowley’s area. It’s a small corner, relatively speaking, surrounded by high hedges and meticulously organized. Crowley has a multitude of beautiful, poisonous plants but he’s particularly proud of the apple trees in back.

“Stick to this spot, if you’ve gotta come in,” Crowley says as Aziraphale brightens and wiggles a little.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s mine. Just ‘cause we don’t have people in here doesn’t mean we can’t. ‘Specially since you found it anyway.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says.

And just like that, something Crowley didn’t know was missing slotted into his life.

*

Aziraphale is unclaimed. He's no different from a dozen other demigods in that respect. He, however, doesn't seem to care. While most newly arrived demigods try to call their power or do increasingly ridiculous and impressive stunts to force their godly parent to acknowledge them, Aziraphale makes himself at home in the Hermes cabin. He goes to every meal and eats with the grateful gusto of one who has been forced to miss too many. Before long, most of the camp forgets what it was like before Aziraphale came.

That does not mean he is a pushover. He cuts the Aphrodite boys with deep, biting words when he spies them bullying a small unclaimed boy. He calmly faces down a horde of Ares girls and somehow talks them into switching sides on capture the flag. He reorganizes Athena cabin's book filing system and comes away with their thanks and gratitude rather than the broken bones anyone else could expect.

Quietly, slowly, Aziraphale wiggles his way into the fabric of camp life. His fighting prowess, at least with a sword, rivals any Ares child. He can best their top fencer in three rounds. Many of them are disappointed that Ares does not claim him. His manicures are second to none and surely worthy of Aphrodite's recognition? He collects knowledge and hordes books with the single minded determination of Athena and Apollo's children but they too remain silent.

Well, the camp consoles itself, so long as he is unclaimed they can pretend he is one of them.

*

Demeter claims Crowley the second he crosses the camp threshold. She could hardly do anything else, Demeter cabin explains, given that Crowley had defeated a harpy by throwing seeds at and choking it with the resulting vines. Exhausted and relieved as he is, Crowley accepts their welcome without a second thought.

He will later remember that Demeter is unmarried.

*

Aziraphale doesn't sleep. Not really. Oh he catches an hour here, an hour there. He has too much to think about, too much to do. There is always a new book to read, a new problem to solve. Sleeping for eight, ten hours at a time seems a frightful waste of precious time.

That changes the first night Crowley sneaks into Hermes cabin. He squeezes into Aziraphale's bunk, snuggles under Aziraphale's blankets, and snakes an arm around Aziraphale's middle. Something in Aziraphale's gut settles. His mind slows its frenetic pace. He manages four full hours in a row and rests for the remainder of the night, tracing soft patterns onto Crowley's hand.

Aziraphale commandeers a spare bunk and puts it next to his. Crowley becomes a regular in Hermes cabin.

*

Crowley doesn’t like eating. Never has. Picky, the adults would always say. He’s just never really that hungry, not even in winter when he does eat more.

But that’s before Aziraphale.

After, well, with Aziraphale, Crowley finds himself enjoying whatever food his best friend offers him. He’ll even eat most of it or steal bits from his plate. It’s unsettling at first but Aziraphale likes his company and likes watching Crowley enjoy himself so Crowley learns to let go and just be.

*

Crowley hates Hastur and Ligur. The feeling is mutual. The older boys are rough, stupid, and way to into violence and fighting, even for Ligur’s heritage. In turn, they make fun of Crowley’s speech, his foray into skirts, longer hair, and black clothes. Aziraphale takes to following Crowley, pointedly showing off his perfectly manicured nails and soft demeanor. Even Hastur and Ligur pause when Aziraphale is involved. There’s something about him, everyone agrees, that makes you want to be your best self and avoid his disappointment.

But feelings have to simmer over some time.

During sword training, which Crowley hates and is absolutely no good at, Chiron pairs him with Ligur. Ligur spends the next sadistic hour beating the crap out of Crowley with the counselors’ blessings. The bell calls mercy, thank somebody, and Crowley steps out of the ring to return his weapon. What little demigod survival instinct Crowley has blares. One second, Ligur is charging him, sword raised. The next, Ligur is gone, replaced by a huge rosebush.

The other campers give Crowley a wide berth after that. Even the other Demeter kids avoid him.

Aziraphale doesn’t.

*

A few weeks after the Ligur incident, Hastur ambushes them. Well, Hastur actually attacks them with a huge ball of fire. Before Crowley can do more than register shock, Aziraphale raises his arm above them. The fireball, which was definitely heading towards Crowley’s poor chest, _changes course_ and rests in Azirpahale’s palm. Aziraphale’s hazel eyes glow but Aziraphale himself seems out of it, focused on and beyond the flame in his hand.

“You wanna go another round?” Crowley bluffs at Hastur. Fortunately, Hastur has at least one brain cell. He turns tail and runs. Crowley doesn’t blame him. Only kids of Hephaestus should be able to control fire like that and even then, the fire should listen to both of them, not submit so completely to one over the other.

Crowley turns his attention back to Aziraphale. “Um, Aziraphale? It’s okay, he’s gone,” he says slowly, tugging lightly on his blue sweater.

Aziraphale blinks, the flame disappears, and his eyes return to normal. “Oh, my,” he says breathlessly, tears forming in his eyes as he flexes his hands.

Crowley’s eyebrows rise. “You all right?” he asks, mentally flailing.

Aziraphale nods. “It’s simply...a lot. I didn’t think I had any extraordinary abilities,” he laughs self-deprecatingly.

Crowley scowls. “You are extraordinary, pyrokinesis or no,” he corrects then smirks, “Still, that was quite the light show. Very impressive. Regular avenging angel, you were.”

Aziraphale swats his arm but he’s laughing for real now, deep and full. “Oh, honestly, Crowley,” he says as they continue back to the Hermes cabin.

They’ll never know it but Hastur hadn’t just run off because Aziraphale took control of his fire. He ran off because for some reason, he couldn’t summon more until he was back at his cabin.

*  
A herd of minotaur attack the camp. Crowley plants seed bomb traps and lures a couple in. He feeds the seeds his power, capturing and imprisoning the minotaur even as they hack away at the vines. Sandalphon comes up behind them and lops their heads off, nodding his thanks to Crowley.

When Crowley darts out of cover and finds Aziraphale, Crowley can’t breathe. His sword is on fire, he lost his shield at some point, but it’s the radiant glow surrounding Aziraphale that almost frightens Crowley. Almost, because it’s still his best friend underneath it all and he knows that Aziraphale would never hurt any of them. All the minotaur in the area roar and move to attack him. Aziraphale shifts and parries an incoming blow. The creature yelps as its weapon heats under the fire of Aziraphale’s sword. In that second, Aziraphale plunges the sword into its breast and it falls to the ground, the smell of searing flesh heavy in Crowley’s nostrils. On and on he goes. Even the Ares kids look impressed.

After the battle, when Aziraphale comes down from whatever possessed him, he drops the sword like hot potato and clings to Crowley as he cries and cries. Crowley mutters soothing nonsense in his hair.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he hiccups between sobs, “I didn’t want to do it.”

Crowley strokes his spine, rests his chin on Aziraphale’s hair. “You did what you had to, angel. You protected all the kids. You did good, angel, you did good.”

*  
Crowley is really good at turning plants into weapons. Extra long and sharp thorns, thick strangling vines, poisons so potent they leave the victim dead after a minute. And Lord, the poison ivy. It's so potent it starts itching on contact and lasts for a month, the only thing the healers can do is reduce the swelling. It's a rule: don't touch or manhandle Crowley's plants, period. Not his garden, not the seeds he carries in his pockets (especially not those), not any plant matter he may have come into contact with, including the lettuce and mushrooms for burgers.

Unfortunately some newbies don't heed warnings.

"Nononono," he shouts, voice strangled as he and Aziraphale walk into his section of the garden. Past the do not touch signs and warning notices, a young boy is sprawled beneath Crowley's apple trees, a nightshade berry peeking out between his cut up fingers.

Crowley turns the boy over but he's already stopped breathing and Crowley can't find a pulse. He's shaking and screaming and about to lose his lunch when a hand made entirely of chalk grey bone rests on the boy's chest. He looks up, sees Thanatos, Lord of Death. Crowley doesn't flinch.

He bares his teeth and snarls, "You can't have him."

**You have killed before, seen others die. Why is this child any different?**

Because this is a child, not a monster. Because this is death, not a rosebush to one day turn back into a human. Because this is his fault, even if indirectly, and he cannot, will not kill kids.

Thanatos nods once, removes his hand.

**Very well. But heal him quickly. Otherwise I will return in a few moments.**

Thanatos vanishes.

The boy coughs and moans in pain.

"Crow-"

"Nectar, now, quick," he orders breathlessly. He feels faint but holds on with gritted teeth.

"Where did I- there we are," Aziraphale says as he crouches on the boy's other side, "Swallow, young man, there we are."

He gently helps the boy take a few mouthfuls, whispers encouragement and praise at each swallow. The boy's whimpering dies down, his pulse steadies, and before long he's answering Aziraphale's questions with sheepish reluctance. A crowd of Demeter kids gathers around them until Chiron himself breaks up the proceedings.

“You can let go now,” Chiron tells Crowley carefully as he helps young Arthur to his feet to escort him to the infirmary.

Crowley blinks, feels his fingers go slack, and, panting hard, slumps back into Aziraphale’s waiting arms.

“I have you, Crowley, I’ve got you,” Aziraphale whispers into Crowley’s hair, holding him tight. Crowley blinks away tears. He rests the back of his head of Aziraphale’s shoulder, concentrates on the warmth and surety surrounding him.

A strangled laugh forces its way through his clenched teeth. “I don’t think Demeter’s my mum,” he says, breathing hitched.

Aziraphale rests his cheek next to Crowley’s. “No, I don’t believe she is,” he says. He squeezes Crowley’s hand. “Really, with your love of black, it’s a wonder we didn’t realize sooner.”

*

"Step-brother and step-sister, eh? Thought that lot had an agreement or something," Crowley says, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Aziraphale nudges Crowley, reminds him both of the Fury they're speaking to and the two very young, very scared children behind him.

"Why don’t I show you two to the spare bedroom?” Aziraphale says and herds Bianca and Nico towards the apartment above the shop.

When they’re out of hearing, Crowley demands answers. Alecto explains that Hades placed his children into the Lotus Hotel in the forties and that they recently left its safety. Aziraphale and Crowley have heard of Percy Jackson, of course, and the Great Prophecy but now that prophecy trouble is on their doorstep. Crowley's pissy and understandably so; they've made it to their thirties and the biggest monsters they've dealt with in years are the pricks who mess with them on the street.

“That absolute fucking-” he cuts himself off, remembering Alecto would be obligated to report back to Hades. “And he wants them here because…”

“You two can protect them until the time comes. And your partner owes my lord, as you well know.”

Crowley sighs then nods. “We’re not holding ‘em. They want to leave, they can.”

Alecto lowers his head. “Understood.”

Bianca is a shy, quiet eleven-year-old. Nico is an enthusiastic, eager nine-year-old. It’s a good thing Aziraphale doesn’t need to sell any of his books because the attacks the surrounding streets suffer over the next three months render the shop near unusable. They try to catch the kids up, both in their demigod abilities and the modern world. Nico takes to some weird card game they don’t understand but they help him collect the cards nonetheless. Bianca takes to helping Crowley cultivate his least deadly plants. Somehow, the four of them get comfortable with each other.

So of course Aziraphale and Crowley are separated from the little ones and then badly injured in a manticore attack.

Only Nico returns, bawling and beating his fists into Crowley’s jacket or Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

They cry with him.

*

Talk of war threads through their demigod contacts. Aziraphale kept up with them over the years, the kids they grew up with and several who came after. Crowley talks to Chiron every few months, though he’ll deny it if anyone asks. The centaur is the closest thing to a reliable parent Crowley has. That matters.

Michael confirms a war is coming. She feels it, deep in her bones. Kronos versus Olympus once more. She and Gabriel are siding with the Olympians, of course. It’s only right to fight for their celestial parents. Bee and Dagon side with Kronos. They’re tired of being convenient pawns in some grand master game, of their lives being interrupted, then used, abused, and discarded. Crowley gets it. He really does. Truthfully, Crowley wants to run and hide, batten down the hatches and wait out the storm. He would, too, if Aziraphale didn’t point out that Nico is caught right up in the middle of things, that the boy they’ve watched withdraw into himself and grudgingly carry on after his sister’s death deserves _someone_ watching his back other than Percy flipping Jackson.

Aziraphale rounds up all the adults he can find, coordinates their meeting point. Crowley forms them up. Crowley’s heart breaks a little when Aziraphale takes up his sword and lights it once more, his face obscured by a dark, determined mask. Most of their force are rusty, years out of practice, save those like Aziraphale and Crowley who’ve had to defend new demigod children from monsters in recent years. Gabriel’s children stay behind with Uriel; he grimly jokes that no matter how this war turns out, between him and Bee their kids are safe. Have to be. Aziraphale doesn’t have the heart to contradict him.

Kronos concentrates the bulk of his forces on the kids. Because they’re the real threat. The adults fight hard. Aziraphale is a bright, blazing rallying point who inspires them beyond the limits of their exhaustion, who reminds them what they’re fighting for, who keeps fighting and fighting and fighting like a man possessed. Crowley eventually runs out of seeds and plants. He spies a horde of skeletons and undead warriors in the distance. He breathes deeply and pulls. Swathes of broken bodies, dead adult demigods and dead enemies alike, stand and toddle towards the lord of the underworld and his son for orders. Aziraphale stands over Crowley. He raises his sword straight into the air. A bright blazing light radiates from it and all the demigods who had been fighting them stop and lower their weapons in confusion. Crowley's strength returns under that light but in a desperate, grasping fashion. The kind where you know if you don’t get up right now, you should just lay down and die because that’s the only outcome.

The monsters turn on their demigod allies and suddenly Crowley is fighting side by side with fucking Ligur. The battle rages and rages until finally, mercifully it’s all over. Aziraphale collapses, dead to the world, flaming sword still burning.

It will burn for the rest of his life.

*

“Step-spawn what’re you doing here?” Crowley asks when he opens the door and finds Nico on the other side. The boy looks exhausted and ill, not that Crowley blames him. The month since the Battle has been hell on all of them.

“I need you to come with me.”

It’s not a request.

Crowley steps out of the shop awkwardly and pulls the door shut behind him. “Mind explaining why?”

Nico scowls then glares at him accusingly. “You never told me you can revive people.”

Crowley’s heart _sinks_. “Look, Nico, I know what you’re thinking-”

“I could’ve had her back the whole time!” Nico spits, tears streaming down his face.

Oh, Somebody.

“Kid-”

Nico lunges at Crowley and grabs his arm. Instantly, darkness envelops them. Crowley’s lungs constrict then they’re spat out on the borders of Elysium. Every one of Crowley’s supernatural senses screeches a siren of a warning. Something is so far off it might as well be in a different multiverse.

“What the nine hells is going on?” Crowley hisses, halfway between demanding his step-brother explain himself and quivering in fear.

Nico’s lips purse and he crosses his arms. “Thanatos is missing,” he mumbles.

Crowley blinks. “Thanatos. Death. Is missing?” he gapes.

Nico nods, stands ramrod straight, and clenches his fists. “Yeah, he’s gone. So you and me, we’re going to rescue Bianca.”

Crowley stumbles back a step then charges into Nico’s face. “What about ‘Death is Missing’ makes you think now’s a good time for a jailbreak and not, you know, _trying to find him?_”

“It’s my only chance,” Nico snarls, “I have to try.”

“Kid, even if you break her out, she’s just gonna go right back in when he comes back.”

“Not if you revive her,” he says coldly. He looks so much like his father in that moment.

Crowley breaks out into a cold sweat. “Nico,” he says gently, “I can’t revive spirits. I only revive bodies, I can’t heal whatever killed them.”

“You haven’t even tried!”

He doesn’t have to. He knows, deep down to his bones, that it won’t work. Spirits have already shed their mortal coils and that’s where Crowley’s power ends.

“Nico, I’m sorry.” Does the kid think he wants to say no? Gods, he misses Bianca too.

“I have to try,” Nico finally whispers, pleads.

Crowley sighs and runs a finger through his hair. “Want some company?”

Aziraphale is going to kill him.

*

If anyone had bothered asking the satyrs, they probably would have predicted Aziraphale and Crowley’s unusual future. Crowley smells like overly ripe fruit, the kind that’s been sitting in the sun for just the right number of hours. Aziraphale, on the other hand, comes to camp smelling of nothing. They note his scent changes over time to perfectly toasted marshmallows.

By the time he and Crowley leave camp for good, both of them smell of caramelized cinnamon apples.

*

Aziraphale reads while Crowley weeds his garden. It’s their favorite pastimes. They don’t need to talk but as they grow older, they do more of it. Tentative plans for the future, ideas of where to go and what to see beyond the camp’s boundaries. Obviously wherever they end up, they will do so together.

*

Aziraphale first kisses Crowley on a midsummer night. It’s stiflingly hot, too warm to stay in the crowded Hermes cabin. They arrange their blankets and pillows out next to the lake. Aziraphale turns his flashlight on and starts rereading the Lord of the Rings as Crowley arranges himself around Aziraphale. When he finally settles and his breathing evens out, a deep well of fondness warms Azirpahale’s whole body, flush from head to toe. He gently strokes Crowley’s long red hair then places a kiss on his temple, his cheek, and his hand. Crowley stirs, sighs, then settles back to sleep.

*

Crowley first kisses Aziraphale in the dead of winter. They trip over a frozen tree root and completely lose their balance, pulling each other to the snow-covered ground. Aziraphale lands on his back with a dull thud, Crowley lands on top of him, legs all tangled up. Aziraphale has the most ridiculous, adorable look on his face as it morphs from surprise to outrage to bright blushing pink. Crowley can’t help himself. He leans over Aziraphale and places his lips against his best friend’s. They’re dry and chapped and they slot against his awkwardly due to the angle. It’s still perfect.

Aziraphale didn’t have to kiss him back, after all.

*

They make it to twenty. Somehow. Aziraphale gets into a prestigious medieval history and literature program. Crowley follows him. Like he was going to do anything else. The next spring semester, Crowley’s enrolled in a botany course of study, because if he’s going to be a walking stereotype, he might as well go all the way. He falls in love with the stars that semester, during the astronomy course Aziraphale insists they take together. Some of it they already know but hey, it’s another excuse to clamber onto the dorm rooftops and lay in the dark, peering beyond the mist which still haunts their steps. Mostly, it’s an excuse like all the others to bask in Aziraphale’s warm presence, hold him close, and let his voice carry Crowley off to sleep.

*

People like them are dying around the world. Their friends die one after another in a never-ending nightmare of bad test results and malpractice. Aziraphale nearly flunks out of grad school during the worst years. Between Crowley's paralyzing guilt and Aziraphale's own heart shattering into ever smaller pieces, he selfishly wishes he was back at Camp Half Blood where monsters could be killed and the innocent at least had a fighting chance to survive.

Crowley wants to protect people from this death. He cannot; there is no cure. All he can do is leave bouquet after bouquet, bring some beauty to those last ugly days. It's never enough. But for Aziraphale, he would have broken and snapped long ago. As it stands, he rages against the universe during the near constant late night vigils and goes to work the next day wrung out and exhausted.

*

Aziraphale notes amid the growing chaos that Hades is a dark but non-threatening presence. He silently watches his wife take the questions and accusations Crowley spits at her. Persephone, for her part, is proudly defiant and unyielding. She gives as good as she gets. He can deny it all he wants but Crowley is his mother's son.

For their part, Aziraphale and Hades sit at a small round table next to the roaring fireplace in the marble sitting room. Aziraphale sips on his tea, attention darting between his best friend and the Lord of the Underworld. Hades raises an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale tries not to squirm.

"Why are you here again?" Hades coolly asks.

"The same reason you are, I imagine," Aziraphale replies.

"Which is?"

"I can't imagine my life without him, even when he makes bad decisions like confronting his godly mother."

Hades' lips quirk. His eyes soften slightly.

"So, what are your intentions towards my step-son?"

Crowley squawks in the middle of his tirade. "Oi, I'm even less your step-son than her kid."

Aziraphale blushes and braces himself but Hades simply looks amused by Crowley's cheek.

As Crowley refocuses on Persephone, Aziraphale makes eye contact with Hades. The fire crackles merrily, throwing bright light along the stone, muting the shadows. Aziraphale hands the god an apple and whispers, "Surely my intentions are obvious."

Hades takes it with a chuckle. "Oh, I like you."

Aziraphale has never felt so blessed and cursed in his life.

*

“Still doesn’t make sense,” Crowley says one night. They sit at their fireplace, Aziraphale in their worn old couch, petting Crowley’s hair who sits at Aziraphale’s feet brooding. It’s one of the few nights uninterrupted by work, Aziraphale’s thesis, or monster threats.

“What doesn’t, my dear?” he asks. Better to get it over with quickly so that it doesn’t spoil their evening.

“You’d think the goddess of hearth and home would claim her own kid, so-called virgin or not,” Crowley grumbles.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs as he shifts onto the floor beside him. “I don’t begrudge her and I do not understand why you do.”

“‘S not right. Hypocritical of her, not claiming her own family,” Crowley says, shifting his gaze to the fire in front of them.

Aziraphale shakes his head and pulls Crowley in, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “My dear boy, _you_ are my family. The other demigods are my fires to tend. She never could tie me to herself and leave room for others in my heart, and that is the only way she knows how to claim anyone.”

*

“Percy Jackson asked that all demigod children be claimed,” whispers a voice in Aziraphale’s ear. It’s one he knows well.

“And if he hadn’t?” he says, voice somewhere between sarcastic and disapproving, as he turns from the fireplace.

The voice doesn’t respond. Instead, a small flame envelops Aziraphale’s hand. It’s pleasantly warm.

“Your symbol of acceptance, then?”

“No.”

Out of the fire forms a small jar, no bigger than Aziraphale’s hand. Its warmth is different, the kind you get from sitting out in the sun on an otherwise cool day.

“My son, the fire of the gods, I ask you to claim the hope of humanity. Kindle it, that it may be protected in the coming conflicts.”

Aziraphale blinks, nearly drops the jar. But he catches and steadies it. “I would have thought-”

“These are the years of convergence. If humanity is to survive, the pithos must be kept by humans.”

Aziraphale breathes deeply and draws his own fire to mingle with the jar. It blazes for a moment then vanishes into his hearth.

“I will nurture it,” he promises.

“Thank you.”

*

“What can I do for you, Miss Chase?” Aziraphale asks as he sits Annabeth down at the small table beside the fireplace and lays out some lemon squares and a soda for her.

She quirks an eyebrow as he sits opposite from her, stirring his tea. “You just so happen to have these,” she asks.

Aziraphale nods. “I do try to ensure that everyone leaves my home full and well-fed.”

Aziraphale doesn’t buy food. Never thinks about it, really. Anything he wants waits in his cupboard or his fridge. Anything Crowley wants as well. If they feel like cooking, the ingredients will find their way into their tiny kitchen. Anyone who comes by and doesn’t annoy Aziraphale will find their favorite snacks and drinks. On a restorer and gardener's pay, they don’t question it.

She sighs and takes a few bites before replying. “Two things. One, I’m looking for a copy of the original treatise on Asclepius’ spells and potions. Chiron said you might have one.”

Aziraphale blinks but nods. “Indeed I do. I am restoring a Middle Age copy from the Ottoman Empire in the original Greek. I can allow you to take photographs of the pages.”

“That works,” she says then eats for a few minutes.

“And the second thing?” he prompts.

She swallows. “You heard about New Rome, right?”

He nods. “Nico and Hazel filled us in after that whole debacle. You conducted yourselves admirably.”

She chuckles wetly. “Yeah, well, Percy and I were thinking about moving out there. They have a whole civilization, college, cafes, bookstores, anything a town should have. And we Greeks don’t have that.”

Aziraphale nods and gestures for her to continue.

“But then I realized I’m Annabeth Chase, I’m the Architect of Olympus, I could give that to us, build a whole town for Greek demigods near Camp Half Blood.”

“You certainly could,” Aziraphale agrees.

“But I can't do everything. I can’t convince older adults to live there and I can’t make it _home._”

Aziraphale ah’s quietly. “And you think I can.”

She nods and wipes her mouth. “Got it in one. It’ll take a couple of years, if you want to think about it,” she quickly adds when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately respond.

The fire in the fireplace sparks bright golds and whites.

“No, no, I don’t,” he says, “I’d be happy to assist you in this endeavor. You will have to create a mortal address near by so that I may continue my restoration work, of course.”

“Of course,” she replies, a little dumbstruck that Aziraphale agreed so quickly, “Anything else?”

“Ensure one house has a fireplace and a greenhouse, Crowley will like that...”

They spend the next several hours hammering out the particulars of Aziraphale and Crowley’s new home. When he learns of Aziraphale’s deal, Crowley rolls his eyes but goes along with it. He’s missed the camp too, and it would be nice to be able to check on the kiddies. Someone with common sense has to keep the ten-year-olds from going off alone to save the world. Terrible system, that.

*

The Demeter kids alternate between calling Crowley ‘old man’ and ‘nephew.’ Nephew gets to him more so of course it becomes his official nickname. Bunch of ingrates. He shows them the finer secrets of weaponizing grass, roots, and seeds and what does he get? No respect. He grumbles about it to Aziraphale but doesn’t really mean it. Hey, he has his own greenhouse now, fully lockable and stocked to the brim with his favorite plants, attached to a house he and Aziraphale own outright. He has Aziraphale and can kiss him whenever, wherever he wants. He has very little to complain about in light of those very big pluses.

As far as he’s concerned, the only bad thing about living in New Athens is seeing Ligur and Gabriel’s smug faces everywhere he goes. They’re just so punchable. Well, at least they’re all adults now and Crowley very definitely did not spike the welcome wine and ensure they had the worst hangovers in the history of hangovers. He definitely did not do that.

At least Gabriel and Ligur’s brats are holy terrors. Definitely a nice bit of payback, even if Crowley has to put up with the occasional silly string or shaving cream in his hair.

*  
Aziraphale tends the fire in the New Athens’ capitol building, the symbolic center of the new promise Percy Jackson and the other great heroes brought. The pithos remains in their personal hearth and draws all the lonely, scared children who need an ear or a protector. Aziraphale thinks Percy knows he has it but he doesn’t say anything. Which is just fine with Aziraphale. That young man is frightening on a good day.

*  
Seven months into New Athens’ construction, Aziraphale and Crowley start awake. It’s three in the morning and the world metaphorically shifts around them, like something momentous just crashed into their lives and will leave a trail of destruction the size of New York. Again.

They throw on coats and shoes, grab their weapons, and head out. No one else seems to have been disturbed. Crowley spots a rumbling in the forest a ways away as harpies rise above the trees and swoop back down into the forest. They race into the forest as the noise of battle builds, as do the screams of a very young, very frightened child. Then everything stills. They speed up.

When they arrive, the harpies are dead, their skin shriveled to the bones, the trees around their bodies black and lifeless, even the grass is gone. Crowley shivers as he approaches the boy at the center of the ring of death, laying flat on his back and panting.

Adam Young is the boy’s name. Adam Young is ten-years-old. The second he crosses the threshold of New Athens, the symbols for Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus appear over his head.

Adam Young is the convergence. He will have the power to tear the thrones of the gods apart and remake the world as he sees fit. But for now, he is only a small boy, lost and alone.

For now, Adam Young will befriend a daughter of Dionysus, a son of Demeter, a son of Lympha, and a child of Hecate. The five will be watched over by a child of Persephone and a son of Hestia unto the end of the world and the beginning of the new.

But that is a different story.


End file.
